


Words Cannot Express

by metalstraws



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, Drabble, M/M, Tags Are Hard, Wedding, no confession of love here, unfortunately.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalstraws/pseuds/metalstraws
Summary: What Prompto wants to say is, 'I love you.'What comes out is, 'Here, listen to this song, Iggy.'
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Words Cannot Express

What Prompto wants to say is, ‘I love you’. What he wants to say is that he’s been in love with Ignis for years now. Not quite since high school, no, they weren’t familiar enough back then, but ever since the night of Noct’s wedding. Ever since Ignis turned to him and asked him to dance, despite the fact that neither of them enjoy the activity and neither of them want to leave the corner they’ve retreated to.

Flutes of champagne, one too many slices of cake, and hushed laughter under the swell of the live orchestra had Prompto’s heart in his throat and his hand reaching out to accept Ignis’s gloved one, extended like a lifeline to the young man before him.

He abandons his camera, albeit in a bag under his seat at their table, and lets Ignis lace their fingers, filling the void between them that Prompto hadn’t noticed until it was suddenly occupied. It’s a heavy, clumsy feeling – Prompto’s hand is so much smaller than Ignis’s – but it feels warm and steady all the same as Ignis tugs them between bodies in between movements.

It’s a waltz, Prompto knows that much. He knows that Ignis is leading, hand on his waist, tugging him that little bit closer until Prompto swears he can feel the taller man’s heart beating against his ribs. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the heat of the dozens of bodies pressing around them, but Ignis’s cheeks are painted rosy and when he smiles, it’s with all his teeth – impossibly white, just a little too sharp – and Prompto pretends it’s just the two of them on the floor of the ballroom.

He’s vaguely aware of a flash of white out of the corner of his eye – Lunafreya, in all her beauty in her designer wedding dress, no doubt – and of Ignis’s breath blowing across his face, but he can’t bring himself to look anywhere but the grey-green eyes in front of him.

“One, two, three,” he hears Ignis breathing out, in time with the music as they turn, “that’s it, you’re doing wonderfully, darling.”

His heart is ricocheting off the walls of his chest, threatening to rip through his dress shirt and jacket when Ignis squeezes his waist and smiles again.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Prompto mumbles, unsure if he’s audible over the woodwinds and the violins. “Sorry I’m not too smooth at this.”

They whisper to one another through the song, shared laughs and stolen glances at lips, but when the song comes to a close, neither one of them moves. Ignis’s fingers stay splayed on his hip, hand capturing Prompto’s smaller one in his own. They’re out of breath and grinning like the fools they are, oblivious to those around them for now.

What Prompto wants to say, years after the fact, is ‘I love you’. He’s had plenty of chances, plenty of opportunities, and if he could just get the nerve to let those three little words slip past his lips, he’s sure Ignis would return them with that same easy smile.

His skin may be scarred, and his eyes may be clouded over now, but when Ignis remembers Prompto, it’s with champagne on his breath and fire in his eyes as they waltz. It’s in a tux and with the lights above reflecting off his hair – like spun gold, Ignis used to muse – and with those words on the tip of his tongue.

But that had been Noctis’s night and that had been the first of many times Ignis had thought about his own wedding – of waiting to see that someone coming to greet him at the altar. He had realized that night that he wished that someone might be Prompto, someday.

Years pass, however, and time wears on, and while Ignis can feel Prompto’s body pressed against his on the couch of their apartment – the one with two rooms and two bathrooms and two beds – he can also feel that warmth in his bones that only the younger man has been able to provide for him.

What Prompto wants to say is, ‘I love you.'

What comes out is, “Here, listen to this song, Iggy.”

When the familiar feeling of an earbud is pressed into his palm, Ignis accepts it readily, hearing the smooth sounds of a symphony filtering in. It’s familiar in a way that makes his heart ache – the song they danced to at Noctis’s wedding. Not done quite the same justice as the Insomnian Royal Symphony had done, but wonderful all the same.

What Ignis wants to say is, ‘I love you’.

And when he turns his head to Prompto, hoping he’s getting the general location of his eyes correct, he smiles.

“ _Beautiful_.”


End file.
